


The Weight of These Wings

by run_and_remember_me



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Castiel POV, Castiel Whump, Gen, Hurt Castiel, post-12x08 Lotus, pre-12x09 First Blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-11
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 13:23:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9659318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/run_and_remember_me/pseuds/run_and_remember_me
Summary: He hesitates, his finger just above the accept button, lingering a few moments more than necessary. With a surge of courage, Castiel answers.It takes a few moments to register the scope of what is happening. Castiel nearly drops the phone as he hears the voice speaking. So clear. So plain. So beautiful. So alive. His voice shakes as he responds. “Dean?”





	

Thousands of years. Thousands upon thousands of years numb to the rest of the world. Castiel had spent the greater part of his existence without knowing the sharp pain of loss or regret. Watching humanity from a distance left him far from sheltered, but he had never quite understood the meaning of feeling. 

His first taste of freedom came after he rescued Dean from the Pit. Disorientation came first. Then Castiel began to doubt. He concealed it for as long as he could, but exposure was inevitable. When his superiors learned he was beginning to express emotion, it was all over. In retrospect, Castiel never stood a chance against destiny. Despite running the apocalypse off the rails, he began to suspect Chuck had something to do with flipping the switch on sentiment. It was all much too complicated to be left up to chance, and well, it certainly wasn’t Castiel’s choice to feel anything this deeply.

Why any angel would ever want to have human emotion is beyond him. Loyalty is about the only one worth experiencing in his opinion, and when you’ve let down everyone you know, there isn’t much loyalty to be had. It was only by some miracle the Winchesters had even kept him around this long. 

No, Castiel doesn’t want a heart. Things were much simpler back when the world was ending and he knew his place. 

Now Sam and Dean are missing. Kidnapped by the United States government—as if that made any sense. Mary is off the grid. Who knows how long she would be gone? Castiel almost dreads her return when she realizes it’s his fault her boys were missing.

He should have been there. He should have protected them. The only thing that kept him searching was the thought of the brothers’ survival.

The Winchesters are strong. A little torn and frayed around the edges, but the good ones always are. The fight runs in their veins, a tradition passed down through generations of warriors. In a sense, Castiel understands perfectly. He was created for battle, to fight for humanity and love them before all else. But he’s merely a pawn. An expendable, mindless foot soldier with an angel blade and a deadly aim. Even now, he feels like more of a sidekick than a hero. 

No matter how much the boys assured him how important he was, Castiel couldn’t shake what everyone else kept telling him. Ambriel. Amara. Lucifer. They all recognized how worthless he really was. 

He can’t begrudge Sam and Dean their status. They’ve sacrificed so much, they deserve any honor they can get. The Gandhis and the “give ‘em hell” Trumans of the world are a rare breed, and for Mary to have two sons to impact history more than most could ever dream is simply remarkable. Castiel, on the other hand, feels like a step down from an advisor. Perhaps an assistant that merely fetches coffee and picks up pie.

He has to do something or he will go crazy in his own thoughts. Castiel instantly regrets thinking such a selfish thing. If he is overthinking, it must be hell for Sam and Dean. Scared. Isolated. Trapped in their own self-doubt.

What would the Winchesters do? If they were here, what would they tell him to get him back on the road? 

“You know where I keep my laptop,” a familiar voice suggests. A chill surges through him.

“Sam? Is that you?” he asks.

With pursed lips and a downward glance, the figure shakes its head. “No, it’s not me. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help you. You can use the laptop to search for cases.”

Right. He was going to take advice from his own imagination. That was a great idea. 

“Look, we’re not just swimmin’ around in your grapefruit, Cas,” another voice adds. Dean. Castiel glances up to see the other man comfortably resting his boots on the table of the war room. “We’re here, and we’re gonna help.”

A tiny, hopeful voice in the back of his mind urges Castiel to listen. Give them a chance. There was just one little thing he has an issue with. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he begins. “The last time I used the laptop, a Fortune Nookie tried to—”

“I’m gonna stop you right there,” Sam interrupts, sparing him the humiliation of recounting the incident.

“Oh, c’mon,” Dean says, crossing his arms defensively. “If Chuck could skim his way through the archives in one night, I think you can stand a little nudity for ten seconds.”

“Fine,” Castiel replies, standing to search for Sam’s computer. As he leaves the room, he can hear Dean grumble something about guilty pleasures and stress relief. Castiel can’t hold it against him. After everything they’ve been through, Dean needs a break once in awhile. 

As he reaches Sam’s room, Castiel grabs the laptop and heads back to the war room. He finds the Winchesters right where he left them, still bickering over Dean’s extra-curricular habits. Castiel decides he’s staying out of this one as he opens the computer and signs in. Sam doesn’t have a password. It doesn’t exactly matter when nothing can be traced back to the bunker.

Sure enough, the last thing accessed on the laptop was sexual in nature, but instead of the blatant pornography he expected to find, Castiel sees animated figures instead. He squints as he finds the button to leave the site. He’s never quite understood Dean’s fascination with Japanese cartoons, but if it helps him come to terms with his preferences, Castiel isn’t going to judge. 

“Okay,” he says as he types ‘disappearances’ into the database search box. A few thousand results show up, and narrowing it down by date and location barely makes a dent in the ocean of information. “Where do I start?” he asks, his face falling into his hands. Castiel is good with details and piecing together a timeline of information, but actually getting started is a chore. Dealing with people and finding new leads is harder than it looks.

“What’s that one?” Sam points at an obituary with a linked newspaper article. Missouri girl found dead after mysterious disappearance.

Castiel clicks on the obituary to read more. The girl was found a few days ago after disappearing nearly a week before. Parents filed a missing person report and found her in an abandoned house outside of town with puncture wounds along the neck.

“Sounds vampy. I’d look into it,” Dean says shortly. He has a way of simplifying everything. A few years ago, Castiel would’ve agreed with him, too. But now, he thinks there’s more to it. Nothing is ever quite as cut and dry as it seems.

“You’ve got your first real lead, man. All on your own,” Sam says. Castiel would have been proud if he weren’t so confused about everything going on.

“What are you talking about?” he asks.

Castiel glanced back to the computer to see if he’s missed anything. There’s enough information for a hunt, but now that Castiel has a lead, he doesn’t know if he has the skill to go through with it. “Get ‘em, tiger,” Dean says.

He turns to face the brothers again, but just like that, they were gone. He looks around the room to see if he was imagining things. As an angel, Castiel is more than willing to accept multiple planes of existence, but he was beginning to wonder if he was in some sort of weird lucid dream. Sam and Dean aren’t dead this time. They were just… gone. 

He isn’t crazy. He’s coping. Yes, that’s it. He’s coping with the loss of the Winchesters by imagining they are here with him. It was strange. But not unheard of. Humans have all sorts of coping mechanisms to deal with loss. 

So maybe he should follow on their advice. Go to Missouri. Check out this mysterious death. That would be the logical thing to do. If logical means following the advice of you imaginary friends based on your real friends locked up somewhere top secret and off the books. 

Castiel closes the laptop with a weary sigh. He must look horrible. With his grace restored, he no longer requires sleep, but the trace of humanity that remains in him still enjoys rest. It isn’t physical rest Castiel needs though. 

He’s drained of energy and motivation. What could ordinarily be helped by burying himself in research or a phone call with Dean worsened by the absence of both the Winchesters and a case. Perhaps working this case on his own would be good for his self-esteem. Dean always says his peace is with helping people. Maybe his could be too. Maybe the tin man with broken wings could hunt all on his own. Hell, maybe he could even summon the courage to call Mary and find their boys.

By one in the morning, Castiel is driving down a back road to Missouri. He likes the emptiness of the two-lane highway and the freedom he feels as he accelerates in the pickup truck. What he once thought was slow and confining, he now enjoys as sharp images of the Impala flood his memory.

He imagines he’s riding shotgun in the classic Chevy. The smell of coffee and stale beer overtakes his senses as a million different scenes come to him. From Maine to California. Dawn to dusk. Laughter and conversation to the quiet, hopeful Black Sabbath tune crackling over the radio as the three of them listen intently. Sam would mumble something about stoner rock, and Dean would snap something about respecting his elders. 

No matter where or when or how, Castiel knows they are meant to be here to keep him company in the dark. He turns on the radio. Maybe that’s all he needs to shake the ghostly feeling settling in the pit of his chest. 

“Still runnin’,” a soulful voice purrs through the speaker. “Against the wind.” 

Castiel smiles softly. He knows this one. Sam and Dean have nearly worn out the Greatest Hits of Bob Seger tape, so he would be hard-pressed to find a tune he didn’t find familiar.

The steady thrum of the bass and the soft piano accompanying the song relaxes Castiel. This is something he needs. It’s enough to remind him of his family without making him sick to his stomach with grief. Balance. For now.

It would take some work, but Castiel could find the Winchesters. The first step is to solve this case.

That step is much more difficult than he thinks it will be. In fact, after three days, ten interviews, and two fake identities, Castiel comes up empty-handed. Nothing to show for his efforts.

How do Sam and Dean do it? How do they make this job look easy?

As Castiel drives back to the bunker, he gives a defeated sigh. It takes everything he has to keep looking at the road in front of him. Concentrate. No retreating to your own world when times get tough. But that’s easier said than done. Especially when he just failed at the one thing that could put him back on the right track. Hunting.

When he arrives, Castiel decides it’s high time Mary knows the truth. He sends a text message to her phone, disregarding the late hour. Sure enough, the next morning, Castiel finds a response that she is coming to the bunker immediately. 

She shows a few minutes until noon, and Castiel has to force himself not to get cold feet and back out now. He has to tell her the truth. The completely horrible, screwed up truth. The good, the bad, and the ugly. And there was a lot of ugly.

Mary takes the news better than Castiel expects, but he can still sense something off-putting about her. She is uneasy. When she explodes, Castiel knows every harsh word she says is true. Mary storms out, in a typical Winchester fashion, and leaves Castiel broken in her wake. 

He likes to think he is improving because he hasn’t imagined Sam and Dean in weeks, but the truth is that Castiel is about to reach a breaking point. Give up entirely. What’s the use in being an angel if you can’t look out for the people you love? 

Mary hates him now. He can’t blame her for how she feels. He brought all of this on by being so ignorant and selfish to begin with. Her words still echo in his mind. Cutting deeper with every passing day without a sign of the Winchesters.

The only thing keeping Castiel together is faith. Just like he always asks Dean to have. The least he can do is return the favor to the boys.

Sometimes, he thinks he can pick up a phrase here and there from Sam. He’s probably imagining it to make himself feel better, but Castiel can’t help but listen. If it is a prayer, it isn’t very strong. If anything, it’s getting weaker with every attempt. Sam can’t be losing faith. Not now. Not when he’s so desperate to find them. What hurts the most is there hasn’t been a hint of a whisper from Dean. Why couldn’t he just swallow his pride and pray more than once an apocalypse? 

Castiel feels a stabbing pain in his chest. Dean is gone. As in nothing he can do about it. Gone. All his fault. Gone. Castiel never dreamed that rescuing an innocent soul from the fiery pit would have such a profound impact on the course of his life. Never once did he think the righteous man would have a special piece of his heart, and now, Castiel finds himself in pain because he is missing a part of himself. A part he never thought he would lose.

Sure, humans have a finite number of years to live, but Castiel never thought he would lose Dean to something like this. Something that could have easily been avoided if Castiel hadn’t been so damn preoccupied. Even in the extreme circumstances in which they met, Castiel never suspected their story would end up like this. Alone in a defunct bunker with the hallways echoing all the words he wanted to say.

I’m sorry for everything. The brothers would tell him not to blame himself if they were here, but Castiel would never stop hating himself for what he had done. All he really wanted was to apologize and talk about everything that was eating at him, but now, he had missed his chance.

I wish I could put into words how much I appreciate you both. No matter what, Castiel feels the Winchesters always have his back. Through every terrible decision, gut-wrenching betrayal, and injury in battle, the brothers were always there to assure him everything would turn out alright. And now he had let them all down. His Heavenly Father. His angelic kin. Sam. Dean.

I love you. This is where the confessions got tricky. As soon as the words were in his mind, he regretted ever thinking of them. There was no doubt in his mind that he would jump in front of a bullet for Sam, but it became a bit more complicated with Dean. 

The truth is he doesn’t know how to define his love for Dean. For being several millennia old, Castiel only began to feel human emotions a few years before. How is he to know how many kinds of love there are or what they feel like? 

Every decision he makes is with Dean in mind. The mission is always to protect Dean. That is priority. Until one day it wasn’t and the Devil impregnated a woman with a Nephilim. However ridiculous the universe has to be for that thought to even make sense, Castiel knows he had every intention of returning to that motel room. 

Castiel wants to scream and protectively wrap his broken wings around Dean. He would follow this man into oblivion without question to keep him from harm. What kind of love is that? Suddenly, Castiel is hit with a wave of emotions he doesn’t understand, a strange and somehow familiar tug in his stomach. 

After he engraved Enochian wardings in the Winchesters’ ribs, Castiel was unable to pinpoint their location without their request. Ordinarily this request was made via prayer, but sometimes—on occasion—Castiel could sense a longing. And there it is. The warm sensation inside that starts in his chest and spreads across his vessel. The gentle thrum of desire stays in his torso, comforting him for a few moments. It’s so familiar. So comfortable. So Dean. 

Dean? Castiel is startled from his thoughts. There is no possible way this longing is coming from Dean, yet there is a small and determined pulse urging Castiel to help him. He squeezes his eyes tightly shut. This isn’t happening. This isn’t happening. You just want it to be true.

His face falls into his palms in desperation. Even with no one here to see him, Castiel is afraid to break. That will mean he’s done. The battle is over. He’s lost the fight. 

But the war has just begun. There is still work to do. There is still a cause to fight for. 

A sharp signal pierces the air, and it takes Castiel more than a moment to register his cell phone is ringing. He still isn’t accustomed to the use of phones, and he isn’t quite sure who would be calling him. 

He hesitates, his finger just above the accept button, lingering a few moments more than necessary. With a surge of courage, Castiel answers.

It takes a few moments to register the scope of what is happening. Castiel nearly drops the phone as he hears the voice speaking. So clear. So plain. So beautiful. So alive. His voice shakes as he responds. “Dean?”


End file.
